


52 Things

by Aliyaxx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cancer, Destiel - Freeform, High School, Leukemia, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, nerd cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:34:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliyaxx/pseuds/Aliyaxx
Summary: Castiel Novak has left his home, his family, everything in search of something better.Dean is the school head case, who doesn't give a fuck about anyone or anything.However, when Dean is charged with looking after Cas when their paths crosss, it is something that will alter them both forever.





	1. Chapter 1

Cas' POV

Cas hated rain. He hated the way the individual water droplets fell, streaking the car window. Like sadness was seeping from the sky.

He rested his head against the cool glass of the window of his brother's Volvo and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about where he was headed, about what was coming. Cas preferred to dwell on the past. Sometimes that was the only way for him to bear it.

He had always been more of a thinker. Letting himself drown in his memories was somewhat easier than facing the harsh truth of his reality. It was how Cas dealt with things. His way of keeping himself sane. He was doing it right now.

Cas pictured his mother. He thought about the last time he saw her, despite how painful it was. He saw her sleek, dark hair bouncing about her shoulders, the clear blue eyes identical to his own. He could hear her voice in his mind, ringing like a bell. They almost brought tears to his eyes.

"We'll get through this. Everything's going to be okay. You are going to be okay. I promise you."

Her pretty face had been tear stained, her voice snapping in two as she spoke. her emotions were in tatters. She had held him against her, so tight that Cas was sure she'd left a mark. Not just on his skin, but on the frail fabric of his heart.

He'd nodded like he'd believed her. He wished more than anything that he could've. But you couldn't force yourself to hope. No matter how hard you tried.

Cas knew that better than anyone.


	2. Chapter 2

The worst thing about it was, that they thought they got him. They presumed that they knew why he acted the way he did. But they didn't know shit.

It wasn't the Daddy issues, or family problems, or stress, or a cry out for attention. Dean had sickness of the soul. His problem couldn't be cured so easily. No amount of discipline could make a difference.

The only good thing he'd had in his life was Sammy, but now he was gone too. Dean wanted to be happy for him, really he did, but he couldn't help feeling that Sam had decided to go because of John. He couldn't help but feel neglected. But whatever.

Dean was no stranger to losing people he loved. You learn to get over it after a while. Or at least, you learn to act like you get over it.  
"Dean Winchester". The falsely sweet voice of the principal's secretary called his name. Showtime. He chuckled to himself as he reminisced over what he'd done to get here.

"Of all the things you've ever done, Mr Winchester, this really takes the cake "

"Nice to see you too, Principal Turner. How's your wife?" Dean laughed, as he entered the familiar office, shutting the door close behind him.

"Janine's fine, since you're asking, but you're not going to charm your way out of this one, young man. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Smash in the bumper of my Biology teacher's Benz with a crowbar. Yeah, I know. I should. I mean, I did it."

Turner shook his head slowly and sighed exasperatedly. 

"You are very lucky, Mr Winchester. Ms Adams has decided not to press charges on account of her feeling sorry for you."

There we go again. The pity points. Giving the school head case the benefit of the doubt. How noble of them.

"So", Dean asked, " What's the punishment this time. Detention? Cleaning graffiti? Suspension maybe? "

Another that thing about this school. What qualified for them as a punishment, wasn't so bad as far as Dean was concerned. Detention? More time away from home. He couldn't complain. Cleaning graffiti? That could be funny actually. There were some geniuses in this school when it come to ridiculing teachers. It was an art form. Too amateur for Dean though. Suspension? That was the best option of all. He got to miss school but he could act like he didn't. He just wouldn't tell John. That would be easy. If there was one thing that his dad was good at it was not caring. That way he could just get away from everyone.

Principal Turner sighed and chuckled slightly. "Not today, Dean."

Dean was confused. He'd just called him by his first name. What was that supposed to mean. He never did that. Dean didn't like where this was going.

The older man smiled at Dean then. A laugh line showing, eye crinkling smile. The kind of smile that scared the wits out of Dean. It assured him that he knew something.

"Maria", Turner said, pressing the small button on his grey intercom.

"Yes sir? ", his secretary replied.

"Send him in please"

"Certainly sir."  
Send who in? What the fuck were they talking about? Dean presumed that he would find out soon enough.

After a second or two, the office door creaked open. Slowly and obviously reluctant, a boy who Dean had never seen before entered the room. He was raven haired with crystal blue eyes and a pair of old school black rimmed glasses. His eyes darted nervously when Dean looked at him. He began to fidget. Idiot.

"Allow me to introduce our new student", Turner said, still smiling, "This is Castiel Novak. He's a transfer from Los Angeles."

Oh, so he was a rich idiot.

"So? What's he to me?"

"Well, in a way, he's your punishment. From here on, you are going to be Castiel's guide. You will show him around school, help him settle in and act as a general mentor for him. I've arranged for him to have the same classes as you, in which you will be obliged to sit together from now on."

"Jesus, his guide or his mother?", Dean hissed underneath his breath. The guy heard him and seemed to shudder. What the fuck?

Turner ignored his comment and continued to speak.   
"Alright. That's everything I think. Don't hesitate to come to me if any issues occur". He looked pointedly at Dean as he said this, of course. " My door is always open. I'll leave you to it."

Castiel quickly exited the office out into the hallway. Dean got up and turned to leave, but he was called back.

"Dean?"

He stopped walking, but did not turn around.

"Be nice to Castiel. He deserves it. Besides, who knows? Maybe he could be good for you too."

Dean walked out and slammed the door behind him. Good for him. As if. Good had made itself clear a long time ago that it didn't want to play a part in his life.

Dean came out into the hallway, only to realise that Castiel had been waiting for him. He walked right past him without a word and started down the corridor. He wasn't doing this.

Dean had enough shit to deal with in his life already and wasn't going to waste his time babysitting some snob. They couldn't make him.  
It was then that he noticed that the guy was following him.

"Um, Dean, is it? Excuse me?"

Dean didn't turn around. He kept walking, eyes looking forward. But, Castiel started to run and caught up with him. Jesus Christ. This guy just couldn't take a hint.

"Hi", he chirped cheerfully, beaming. When Dean continued to ignore him, he didn't give up and walk away, as any sane person would have, but instead he proceeded to introduce himself.

"I'm Castiel. It's nice to meet you." He extended a hand to Dean. He glanced at it and replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"Hey Castiel. I couldn't care less."

"Oh. I..Okay. Well, I was wondering if you could help me find our class, becaus—"

"You know there's actually this magnificent invention, its called a map. Get one."

"They gave me one, but it's kind of confusing. Listen, I know you're probably busy and everything, but I'd really appreciate it if you could—"

"And I'd really appreciate it if you could fuck off."

"But, I thought you were supposed to help me..."

"Was it the 'fuck' or the 'off' part that you didn't get? Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

"But Principal Turner said—"

" Oh God, if you think I give a damn about what that son of a bitch tells me to do, then you're even more fucked up then I thought."

"But aren't we in the same class?", Castiel whimpered. What a fucking wimp.

"I'm not going to class", Dean told him, turning to look at him for the first time in this conversation, if you could call it that.

His eyes were huge and as blue as cornflower silk. He looked hurt, crushed in fact, like Dean had just punched him.

It only lasted for a split second, before Dean turned and walked towards one of the school's many exits. It wasn't as if he felt bad. Consciences were for people with hearts, and Dean's had been taken from him a long time ago.

Getting out of school had become second nature to Dean at this point. The trip by the grassed garden outside, the brief climb over the brick wall and finally the drop down to the sidewalk below. It became easier every day.

He wouldn't stay in that hellhole for anything. Especially not some dumbass rich kid who he'd been instructed to look after. Since when had Dean ever done what that dick told him to. He'd never cared about what any of them said or thought, and he wasn't planning to start now.

If they thought that he would ever so much as look at that Casti–whatever guy again, they had another thing coming.  
He turned a corner at the end of the sidewalk and crossed the street.

Dean was going to the same place he went every time he ditched. It was the only place he felt like he belonged anymore. With the only person who Dean felt somewhat understood him.

Dean could hear the familiar clang of tools the closer he came to the garage. He heard a bang and a low mutter.

"Balls"

Dean smirked to himself.

"Hey Bobby ", Dean chuckled.   
His uncle peeked his head round the open bumper of the Mustang he was working on. "Dean", he greeted with an easy smile, "How're things?"

Dean shrugged as he walked forward. "How they always are, I guess. Shit. But, hey. I'm not expecting a miracle anytime soon. You?"

Bobby sighed and closed the rusting bumper of the car. "Well, I'd attempted getting this piece of crap to start, but no joy. Yet."   
He grabbed a blackened rag from a nearby shelf and approached Dean. "Ditching again, I see."

Dean snorted loudly. "When have you ever known me to stay in that shithole? I don't want to be there."

Bobby shook his head and sighed again. Not exasperatedly. It wasn't that he was pissed or disappointed. It was more humorous than anything else. "Whose nose did you break this time?"

"No one's actually. Just smashed in a teach's car, that's all."

"Why the hell did you do that?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean continued. "The bitch failed me again. One more time and I'll flunk the semester."

"Dean", Bobby told him, " You don't have to do this you know. You just say the word and you can work here in the garage with me."  
Dean smiled sadly and nodded. "I know, I know. But this is something I'm sticking with. I'm going to finish high school. I promised Sammy."

He grimaced at that. Just saying his name hurt. He missed him more every day, despite the fact he'd never admit that to anyone. They talked everyday, of course they did, but it wasn't the same. How could it be?

Bobby laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I know you're taking it hard. I know you wish he was still here."

Dean forced himself to shake his head. "Bobby, I'm fine. I'm glad for him. He's doing well for himself, it's what he wants. And he deserves it more than anyone else in the world."

Bobby smiled, not saying a word. He didn't need to. He just stood and stared at Dean silently, his eyes boring into his.

"Whatever you say, son", he finally replied with an eventual bow of his head.

Dean wanted more than anything to talk to Bobby about Sam, but he just couldn't. Sure, it might make it feel slightly better for a while at least. But what then? The feeling would return. And telling Bobby was just one step closer to telling Sam how he felt about it all.

Dean couldn't let himself do that. No matter how much every part of him wanted to believe otherwise, he knew this was what was best for Sam. Dean knew he needed this. So again, he kept his mouth shut, locking his feelings inside tightly as ever.

"So, about what you did. What's the sentence? "

Dean laughed. What indeed. "You're not gonna believe this. Talk about cruel unusual punishment."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, pulling a confused expression. He clearly had no idea what Dean was getting at.

"They made me a guide", Dean chuckled.

"A what?"

"They made me a guide to some newbie. I'm basically a certified babysitter."

"I'm confused."

"So am I. All I know is I'm not doing it."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't want to". Dean shrugged. He didn't see why any of this mattered. He had his mind set and nothing was going to change it.

"But, why though?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer. Dean, just hear me out, alright? You did something you shouldn't have done."

"She-"

"I know what she did, but that doesn't give you the right to smash her car in. It was wrong. You were wrong, and you need to face consequence. It can't be that bad."

"That might be true, but I don't care. I'm not wasting my time with it."

"Dean, be responsible-"

"I know what my responsibilities are, Bobby, and this ain't one of them."

With that remark, Dean turned and left. He thought that Bobby would've got it. That he would've been on his side. He couldn't believe this.

"Sam would tell you the same and you know it."

Dean stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply. "You don't know what he'd tell me", he said. He didn't know whether Bobby had heard him or not, but he didn't care. He wasn't exactly sure who the statement was directed to.

"You don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

Cas's POV

Don't cry, he told himself, Whatever you do, don't cry.

But what else was he supposed to do?

He'd just left him there. Standing in the middle of the hall. With no clue about what to say or where to go. Just a bad map that looked like Mandarin to Cas. He'd tried to be nice, to be polite, but apparently that didn't work here either.

Cas honestly didn't know what to do. Things just seemed to be getting worse and worse. He had never wanted to come here in the first place, he'd known that things weren't going to work out.

He wanted nothing more than to be back home in LA, but he knew that he had to stick things out here. He'd promised his mother. He didn't want to disappoint her. She'd been through enough because of him.

Gabriel had been the only person who'd been honest with him about the entire thing. During that car journey, Gabe had been the only one who really understood.

I'm not going to tell you everything's going to get better, because it might not. But if we don't try this, there's only one way that things will go.

But was that so bad? Cas didn't want what was coming under any circumstances, but he wasn't planning on walking through hell just to fight against it either.

What was that guy's problem anyway? Would it have been so difficult for him to at least give Cas some direction to where he was supposed to be going. It wasn't fair.

He felt his emotions collapsing again. Not just because of what just happened, but under the weight of everything. His brothers were here with him, both of them, yet he felt so alone. He was segregated from the world, and no matter what he did, he couldn't regain entry.

"Are you alright?"

He heard the voice from behind him, soprano high and light as a feather. As Cas turned around, he realised he recognised this girl. She was the one who'd been at the office this morning. She'd been crying, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as she'd sat in the waiting room.

The girl seemed fine now though. She offered Cas a smile, the first genuine one he'd witnessed all day. Her brown eyes were bright.

"Not really", he replied, "I'm kind of lost."

Her smile widened. "Hi, Lost. I'm Sylvia."

He smiled. She seemed approachable. And possibly helpful, which was more than he could say for Dean Winchester.

"I'm Castiel. Nice to meet you."

She held out her hand. Cas stared blankly for a second. Then it dawned on him. It was strange. He wasn't used to people being nice to him like this. Well, honestly nice. He shook her hand. She had a grip tight as a tourniquet.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Where were you headed?"

"Um, English?", he said, unsure.

"What teacher?"

Cas fumbled with his backpack, looking for the vague timetable that'd been sprung on him this morning. Before he could unfold the paper, Sylvia plucked it out of his hands.

"Ms Peterson. Ugh, unlucky. She's having a permanent senior moment. It's not very pleasant, but you'll get used to it. Eventually."

As she spoke, Sylvia bent her head just so, enough that her long sweep of blonde hair shielded her face from view. When she did look up every so often, it seemed like she was hiding something behind her eyes. Cas couldn't exactly place what it was though. He couldn't possibly guess.

"Could you - would you be able to show me there? If you're busy that's okay too."

She grinned, proceeding to slide her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. "Sure. Follow me."

So Cas did. What else was he supposed to do? It wasn't as if Dean had given him any other option.

Sylvia ran ahead sprightly, just short of skipping. With her light skin and pale hair, she was one of those girls that seemed to be made up of sunlight instead of bone. She looked happy to the untrained eye, but Cas suspected that was just a cover up.

Pretending to be somebody else was the only way to get through life sometimes.

"Well?", she asked, whipping her head around, "Are you coming?"

Cas had to think about it for a second. Was he? Following her would most likely be the first step to friendship. Cas wasn't good with people. They were fake, everybody was. It was human nature. Cas couldn't trust people. He hadn't been able to since it happened. When the world disappoints you once, the rest of your expectations follow suit.

He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do, but he knew that it was the only thing to do. If he wanted to move forward, to get better, then he had to start somewhere.

"Wait for me."

She was hard to keep up with. Her long strides didn't slow, not even slightly.

"So, where are you from?", Sylvia asked, not looking back.

Cas felt that familiar feeling pang deep in his gut once again. He could never quite pinpoint exactly what it was, but it seemed to be a combination of grief, pain and pure regret. "Los Angeles."

Sylvia's eyebrows shot up to reach her hairline, an expression that indicated her ultimate surprise. "No kidding? California. Damn. What's that like?"

Cas winced, as the raw, stomach-wrenching ache grew, devouring more and more of him. He could feel it in his bones, could sense it as it spread throughout his limbs. Cas willed it to stop before it could reach his heart. As usual, he was unsuccessful. Her question was one that Cas didn't want to know the answer to, but did anyway. It was sewn into his memories, yet he still didn't know how to contain it into words. How could you describe the city you'd spent your entire life in, but still wasn't your home? How did you go about telling someone that you felt so alone, even in the midst of thousands of others? How could you explain the fact that news could travel at the speed of light, especially when you least wanted it to?

You didn't. You just didn't. It wasn't that people wouldn't understand, although that was also true. It was simply because you didn't want to remember out loud. Once you speak your thoughts, it isn't long before the rest of your body follows in the inevitable holocaust. Your heart and soul remember too, and that was as good as self-destruction.

Cas gulped hard enough to feel his throat crack dry. "It's different."

Sylvia whipped her head around then, stopping dead in her tracks. The corner of her mouth jerked upwards suddenly. Her eyes glinted bright as copper pennies, and for a brief moment, Cas thought that she was looking right through him. At something bigger. At something worth looking at.

"Different can be good. God knows it's better than this place."

He could almost hear his mother's reaction to Sylvia's last sentence. Don't take the name of the Lord in vain, she would've warned. You couldn't say "Christ" in the wrong context and avoid her disappointment. She was so religious. She took religion more seriously than was healthy for anyone. Cas didn't exactly have it out for the church, but it aggravated him how they instilled a false sense of hope in people. He'd heard his mother praying for him each night. She kept as quiet as she could, but desperation was difficult to silence. Cas had witnessed her pleas enough to resent the empty promises she held so much trust in.

"What's wrong with here?" , he asked, bemused.

Cas didn't see what could be wrong with this place. He was evidently unhappy in this town, but that was due to circumstance rather than location. He didn't want to be here, but he didn't want to be anywhere else either. Not really. Sylvia, though, seemed adamant about her negative opinion of this place. Her expression was proof enough of that.

Sylvia snorted, facing forwards again and continuing her long strides ahead. "What isn't? It's not exactly a walk in the park to spend your entire life in your mother's shadow. Especially when everybody else is just as disapproving of you as she is. Just once, I'd like to be somebody other than the judge's daughter."

"Is it really that bad?", Cas asked her. There wasn't much else he could say in response. He couldn't relate. The jobs of his parents, regardless of how highly commended their particular career paths were, weren't distinctive enough to stand out individually back in California.

"No", she mused, smiling softly to herself, most likely at some private inside joke that Cas wasn't permitted to know of, "It's not that bad. I just hate being invisible."

Cas' gaze dropped to the ground in front of him. What Sylvia didn't know, was that she had a superpower. Invisibility was something certain people couldn't do. It was a blissful luxury to have the ability not to be seen. That you could stand in silence, without fear, observing life from the shadows as it unfolded. What Cas would've given to be a watcher instead of the watched. Sylvia had a rare gift, and she didn't seem to realise how unbelievably lucky she was.

"But that's whatever", she sighed. All traces of the heated emotion that had been so evident in her voice mere seconds ago had evaporated into the air around them. She slipped seamlessly between personas as gracefully as a dancer. She had hair the very colour of a cornfield, and it blew out behind her like a flowing blanket of silk. In the right light, it seemed as if she was walking on air. Cas couldn't help but wonder if she was. That would explain a lot.

"Are you in my class?", he enquired, as it occurred to him that she was out of class too, without any particular reason. 

She laughed lightly. "Nope. I've got Algebra this period with Mr. Flack."

"Then...shouldn't you be going there? I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

"Chill, dude. I'll be fine. I'm not going to Algebra."

Ditching, Cas concluded, seemed to be somewhat habitual at this school. "Why not?"

"Three reasons: 1. Mr Flack is a douchebag, 2. I suck at polynomials, and 3. I don't want to go."

"But, what if the principal finds out?"

"Old Turner's got a soft spot for me. He and my dad used to be pretty tight."

"Used to be?"

All of a sudden, Sylvia fell into step with Cas. "Yeah. He took off when I was 3 years old. We haven't heard from him since.

Cas averted his eyes, feeling an impromptu rush of heat flooding to his cheeks. "I didn't- I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be", she scoffed, "He's a pretty crappy person. He couldn't manage to set his own life straight, so I'm glad he's out of mine. Turner and me though? We're on pretty good terms. Not like Mr Rebel Without A Cause."

Cas raised his gaze to hers. "Who?", he asked, although he already knew.

"Dean Winchester", Sylvia laughed, "Who else?"

The mere mention of his name made Cas' bones stiffen. He'd been so angry. Cas hadn't done anything to him, yet he'd treated him like crap. He had no idea why. Not a clue. Cas had been there five minutes and already that guy seemed to despise him for no apparent reason. "I'm guessing that you saw him storm out then?"

Sylvia pursed her lips. "Not today, but I've seen it all before. Winchester's no stranger to trouble. He must have a juvy conviction for every day of the year by now. I don't think there's a single person at this school who hasn't witnessed at least one of Dean Winchester's legendary freakouts."

Cas felt a secret relief wash over him. At least he knew now that it wasn't a personal vendetta against him. He wasn't looking to join any hitlists, least of all on his first day here. "So he's a regular troublemaker?"

"Are you kidding me?", Sylvia asked, her eyes inches away from popping out of her skull, "He's a total psychopath! Even freaking Crowley keeps his distance."

"Who's Crowley?"

Sylvia rolled her eyes in annoyance. It was an expression that screamed irritation. "Trust me, you don't want to know. I'd rather bite off my own arm, then waste my breath talking about that moronic numbskull."

She didn't seem to want to speak about that guy whatsoever, so Cas just dropped it. He didn't want to pester her. 

"Sometimes", she said, "I feel sorry for him. Dean, I mean. I get that he's a psycho, but it must be pretty hard on him. There's a different rumour spread about him around here every day of the week. You can't tell the difference between the truth and the lies anymore..."

Sylvia sighed sort of sadly as she stared off into the distance of the wide empty hallway. Rumours. They invoked a strange curiosity in Cas about their subject. He was just so bizarre. This Dean guy had definite issues of course, but you couldn't start a fire without some form of a spark. Something had to set have set him alight. Cas was less than a second away from asking her something else about him, when she stopped abruptly in front of a classroom door.

"Your chamber awaits", she chuckled, nodding towards the room.

"This is it?"

"That's it."

"Okay", he gulped, "Will I see you later?"

She turned away as she made her way down the hallway. "You can find me at lunch. I'll be that one girl keeping her distance from everybody else. I'm easy to spot. Just follow the trail of death glares."

With that, she was gone. She took off running down the corridor, and she didn't cease until she turned a corner. Cas was alone again.

He stared at the door in front of him and inhaled deeply. He wasn't good at introducing himself, or being the new kid. Beginnings didn't come naturally to him. He felt like a kid again, so lost in this unfamiliar place that he'd been abandoned in. He thought back to preschool, when their over-smiling teacher would stand in the centre of the circle of 4 year olds, handfuls of brightly coloured dress-up costumes bundled in her arms. Let's Pretend, she used to say.

Good advice.


	4. Chapter 3

Dean’s POV

A/N: An abundance of apologies for anyone who is actually reading this. I know it’s been a hell of a long time since I last updated this story, but I’ve been having a few problems with my health and have only recently got back on track with my writing. I promise that I’ll do my utmost to update now as regularly as I possibly can. Thanks ^^

This internet was so damn slow. Getting on a plane to England would’ve been faster. Heck, walking to England would’ve been faster than this. Dean tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk as he waited for the screen of his computer to quit buffering. He got one Skype a day with his brother, and he wasn’t going to miss that for anything, least of all this stupid computer. A while ago, the mention a time difference between Kansas and London wouldn’t have worried him at all. Now, it was one of the few things that mattered to him. He couldn’t help but think about how something could go from meaning nothing to everything with the slightest change. 

The screen was too bright, and it strained Dean’s eyes just to look at it, but he stared at the monitor as if it had the meaning of life engraved on it. It was only four o clock, but he was tired enough to sleep for a week straight. His drooping eyelids struggled to stay open as a weary yawn escaped his lips. He gritted his teeth, as the browser tried to establish the connection for the millionth time. 

He might’ve been exhausted, but that wouldn’t stop him from smashing in that computer if it didn’t get its shit together five seconds ago. 

Dean rarely got to talk to Sammy these days. His fancy new school split their semesters into quarters, with hardcore tests at the end of each. Not the kind of easy test that you could half-study and still hope to come out with a pass. These were hardcore; exams that you worked your ass off to ace because there weren’t any other options. You flunked those tests, you lost your place at school. During the past week, the only communication he’d had with Sam was through text messages. That wasn’t exactly satisfactory. 

Sam had been studying like crazy lately, but he’d promised that they’d video call today. His exams were over, so for the first time in what felt like eons, he had time. Not that he was bitter over it or anything, but it wasn’t easy when the person that mattered the most to you was suddenly living on the other side of the ocean. 

The laws of the universe seemed to have finally taken pity on him, as the call slowly connected. He breathed a loud sigh of relief and let the stiffness of his bones relax. He wouldn’t be killing anything today. Probably. 

When Sam eventually accepted the call, he came up on the screen. His dorm room was dark, and he could clearly see nightfall from the window behind his brother. His hair was a mess and he looked as if caffeine and sheer willpower were all that held him together. “Jesus, Sammy. You look like shit.”

Sam yawned and propped his chin up with his hand. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m serious”, Dean told him, “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Try three”, he laughed, running his hand through the tousled disarray of his hair, “That’s what continuous assessment does to you, I guess. But, they’re over now, so it’s whatever.”

Dean shook his head and laughed. “Sometimes you’re so predictable. Worry yourself to death about something, then the minute it’s over, you act like nothing happened.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. The smile he frequented whenever he knew that Dean was impossibly right about something, but didn’t want to admit it. “I think this is the part where I change the subject”, he joked, “How’s Kansas? Did you commit any homicides today?”

Dean dropped his gaze to the keyboard and grinned crookedly. “Not exactly.”

Reclining back lazily in his chair, Sam let out an exasperated sigh as he passed a hand over his face. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume that I did something?”, Dean asked, deliberately avoiding the question. It was a tactic that he’d been using a lot lately, answering a question with another question. Usually this was how he evaded talking about a particular subject, and most of the time it worked. Today, apparently not. 

“Don’t change the subject”, Sam retorted. 

“I’m not.”

“You are. You do it every time you don’t want to talk about something. I’ve noticed.”

“You know”, Dean sighed, “You’re pretty sharp for someone who hasn’t slept in weeks.”

“Subject change”, he coughed mockingly, covering his mouth with his fist. 

Dean looked away from the computer screen, turning his gaze to the other side of the room. “Whatever. It’s stupid as fuck anyway.” 

Sam propped up his chin with his fist after another tired sigh, the kind of sigh that a junior doctor lets out at the end of a thirty-hour shift. “Listening.” 

“You know Ms. Adams? My Biology teacher?” 

That was all it took for Sam’s face to drop down to the desk, utterly drained of effort. “Dean…”

Even though his brother clearly wasn’t watching, he raised his hands up in front of him in his defence. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Do I really want to hear the rest?” 

Dean answered with a shrug, then remembered a half second later that Sam still wasn’t looking up at him. “Probably not, but you’re going to anyway.” 

He took a deep breath before continuing. He knew exactly how Sam was going to take it. Badly. “I might’ve messed her car up a little.”

“How much is a little?” 

“Okay. I might’ve messed her car up a lot.” 

Sam lifted his head and looked at his brother, really stared at him. For a minute there, it was like he was sitting right in front of Dean again, scrutinising him over the distance of their kitchen table. Sam didn’t say a word; not with his mouth at least. With his eyes? That was a different story entirely. 

This was it, Dean thought. Maybe he was used enough to this routine by now. Maybe he was sick of reacting, sick of trying. Maybe he was communicating his feelings through expression because it was the only way he could think of to reach Dean anymore. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”, Dean asked tentatively. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.” 

It was strange, this quiet twinning of eyes as they both stared at each other, swimming in the silence. Even halfway across the world, the arrow of Sam’s disappointment made his heart crack the hardest. 

“Lectures don’t seem to really work with you, Dean”, Sam went on, “I’m not going to pressure you into changing anymore. I’m sure however many detentions Principal Turner’s given you is punishment enough.” 

Without realising, Dean’s eyebrows flicked upwards sarcastically. He’d made the fatal mistake of forgetting how quick Sam was at picking up on the slightest changes in body language. 

“I saw that”, he pointed out quickly, “What was that about?” 

“What was what about?”, Dean lied, making a pitiful attempt to cover up his mishap. 

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Dean rolled his eyes, realising that resistance was futile. “I didn’t get any detentions.” 

“Shit”, he swore, “He suspended you again?” 

“Worse.” 

Sam’s eyes went wide as a copper coin. “You didn’t get expelled…”

“Worse.”

“Come on. There’s nothing worse than being expelled.” 

“Oh, there’s something”, Dean chuckled bitterly, “But I know you’ll make me do it, so I am not going to tell you.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“I won’t.” 

Sam sat back in his chair a little. He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking very confident in his ability to push Dean into doing whatever he believed the right thing to be. “Yes. You will.” 

Dean fucking hated it when his brother was right. Unfortunately for him, that was all the time. 

 

The last place in the world Dean pictured himself to be first thing on a Tuesday morning was Turner’s office. It was early. So early in fact, Dean could see people he ordinarily never saw on their way in. Like Crowley, for instance. He was doing a very bad job of pretending not to stare at Dean as he leaned against the office door. Dean could see them whispering; he knew that he was the subject of their conversation. Not that he gave a shit. 

Dean pressed the back of his head against the hard wood of the door, impatient. It had been at least thirty minutes since he’d arrived at the place, and he was still waiting for the principal. Dean figured that was how things were with the majority of adults; they were on your back every second of the day, except when you actually needed them. 

There were a couple of other people there, who’d arrived a little later than Dean had. They sat in the row of chairs outside the office reserved for students and the occasional parent or guardian. He didn’t join them. He didn’t want to. Just because he needed to talk to Turner didn’t mean he had to look like he did. 

As Dean glanced around the area, he could see a number of kids rushing to their lockers already, in an oddly hurried manner. He couldn’t understand why anyone would make such an effort to organise themselves so early when they didn’t really have to. They all looked so damn eager, positively optimistic even. As they stuffed their heavy textbooks into full backpacks, it seemed as if the prospect of school and everything in it was a choice rather than a chore. Like they were trying hard because they wanted to, not because they had to. 

Dean didn’t get that either. 

“Can I help you, Mr. Winchester?” 

Turner stood there blinking at him, the worry lines on his forehead creasing further. Dean had been so busy observing that he hadn’t heard the man finally approach. “I guess.” 

The principal pulled a ring of jingling keys from his coat pocket and moved to unlock the door of his office. “And with what, might I ask?” 

Dean waited for him to open the door and beckon him inside the room. He didn’t answer until it was safely locked behind him, keeping everything out of earshot from everyone else. A habit. “It’s, um, about the, you know, thing from yesterday.” 

“Ah, yes.” Turner sat down at his desk and sighed briskly, nodding towards the opposite visitor’s seat opposite him. “Mr. Winchester, did you really think that I wouldn’t hear of your little escapade yesterday afternoon?” 

Dean inhaled inaudibly. Typical. This was what Turner, what everybody, failed to understand about him. Dean never did things because he thought people wouldn’t find out about them. He never did things because he thought people would find out about them either. That would require a certain amount of pre-thinking. Dean didn’t pre-think. He just happened. 

Sophomore year, Dean had taken Chemistry class for a while. Science wasn’t really his thing and he spent the majority of his time there wishing that he was some place else, but he did learn one thing in the process. A chemical reaction never occurred without a catalyst. It needed something to set off the explosion or the change in colour. There was always a trigger element. Always. 

Dean could’ve tried to explain this to Turner, to any of the teachers in that place, but he knew that it would be nothing but a waste of breath. Teachers thought that they could teach the world how to grow, but they rarely let themselves be taught. No, there was no point in argument right now, so Dean just stayed silent.

Turner crossed his arms on top of the desk and stared Dean square in the face. “I know that this most likely isn’t something you’ve ever seen yourself doing, but if you think about what this could do for somebody else-“ 

“I’ll do it.” 

“-to help somebody, someone who’s trying their very best to settle somewhere between a rock and a hard place-“

“I said I’ll do it.” 

Turner stopped speaking. The speed of his blinking began to increase, then skyrocketed. Dean wondered if he noticed the dropping of his jaw. It was only minimal, but a jaw drop all the same. Dean swallowed a grin, mildly amused. 

Turner nodded suddenly, a probable search for confirmation. “You’ll do it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s what I said.” 

Clearly very confused by Dean’s impromptu agreement, Turner tapped his fingers rapidly against the tabletop. “So, you don’t have a problem with it?”

“Jesus”, Dean sighed exasperatedly, “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re getting what you wanted. What more do you need to ask for?” 

“I’m not complaining”, Turner ineffectively tried to convince him, “I’m just a little curious, Mr. Winchester. You were so utterly against cooperation yesterday. What inspired this sudden, well, change of heart?” 

Dean shrugged. He knew exactly why he was doing it. Sam probably had a fairly good idea of why he was doing it. They knew. He didn’t have to tell Turner that. It wasn’t any of his business. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. Do you want me to do it or don’t you?” 

“Of course!”, the principal stressed, probably cautious of the possibility of Dean going back on his decision. “It’s mighty decent of you to do so, if I say so myself.” 

Dean got up out of his seat then. He’d done what he needed to do and that was it. He didn’t want anything extra than that. “I didn’t come here for your gratitude. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“Then why are you?” 

Dean didn’t give him a reply. He didn’t say anything until he’d escaped back out to the hallway, merging into the cascade of students. 

“That’s for me to know.”


End file.
